


Comfort Zones

by freakylemurcat



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Awkwardness, Blow Jobs, First Time, Hand Jobs, Kink Meme, M/M, Miscommunication, Virginity, Virginity or Celibacy Kink, beds made of gold, don't forget the lube!, makes the situation even worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:40:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freakylemurcat/pseuds/freakylemurcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Thorin get their long-awaited for time together after the Battle of the Five Armies, only to find out that they've got one more adventure to complete before they get to the snuggling - neither of them has much of a clue what the hell they're supposed to do in bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Zones

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt:  
> 'Both Bilbo and Thorin are virgins but neither knows the other is; they had just assumed (because Thorin is majestic and gorgeous? and because Bilbo is charming and Hobbits can have more than one partner?) that the other had had sex before.
> 
> This all comes out when they decide to consummate their relationship. Making their first time totally awkward and adorable and realistic.
> 
> Bonus for neither of them having lube (I assumed you would have some being so... well...)(DWARVES ONLY LOVE ONCE BILBO HOW MANY TIMES)(YOU DONT HAVE TO BE IN LOVE TO HAVE SEX OMG)(URK, HOBBITS!) so one of them has to go ask other members of the company for some. '

They come together in Erebor, after all is said and done and the Arkenstone is back to its original place over the battered throne of the Lonely Mountain and the men are back in Laketown and the elves have sloped off to their forest. 

The bed is rather lumpy, but then again it _is_ mostly made of heaps of gold with some linens piled on top, because dwarves are resourceful to the very last, if not wholly sensible. Bilbo perches on the edge and watches as Thorin prowls about, removing bits of armour and generally looking surprisingly anxious for a dwarf who had just won a battle involving five armies. The hobbit would be wholly lying if he said this is how he imagined Thorin on their first night together – the dwarf king is broad and powerful and majestic and surely he must have had plenty of willing souls in his bed before now? But if that is the case, why does he look so damned nervous?

Bilbo rather feels that that is meant to be his expression right now – for all that hobbits are lusty, happy creatures, Bilbo has never really gotten down to business with anyone before. Well, he has had a feel of one of the Bolger girls’ breasts one happy Midsummer and one of the Farmer Maggot’s lads had tried to lure him into a cornfield for a bit of fondling before they’d both been run in different directions by the farmer’s dogs, but that was hardly anything. He watches Thorin finally shrug off his outer layer of mail, and swallows at the flex of muscles underneath – goodness, what sort of position would the dwarf manage to wrangle them into, with his experience and strength?

Thorin settles onto on the gold pile beside Bilbo and casually drapes his arm over the hobbit’s shoulders. Bilbo supresses a giggle at the obvious affectation and leans up for a kiss – even on the road and amid the perils they’d faced, there had been many a moment spare to enjoy a kiss or two, and he knew that Thorin had no lack of skills in that department.

Tonight though, things just don’t seem right. Thorin’s hands, usually having their own fun running under Bilbo’s shirt and twanging his braces for mischief, are settled awkwardly on the hobbit’s shoulders instead, and Bilbo isn’t entirely sure where he should put his own hands either.  Normally he would reach his arms about Thorin’s neck and entangle his fingers into thick hair, but is that appropriate now? What if they want to move to another position? Do they need to lie down? Obviously they will eventually, but what about now?

Does this all have to be so bloody complicated, is the main question in Bilbo’s mind? Surely people managed to have sex all the time, without all this confusion, otherwise no one would ever manage to reproduce.

Thorin growls and Bilbo finds himself flat on his back, wincing as the coins dig into his back and shift worryingly under their weight. He flings out an arm to prevent an avalanche beneath them, and nearly bats Thorin over the ear in the process, earning himself a growl and a nip on his throat.

But Thorin is ever easy to forgive him, when he wraps a hand in his thick braids and pulls him down for another kiss. It still doesn’t feel quite right, like suddenly they don’t fit together like they had before, but it remains pleasurable enough. Thorin’s beard scratches his cheek and chin, rasping at his lips whenever the kiss grows messier, breath hot on his wet skin and eyes fired with lust. Bilbo wriggles and melts a little under that gaze, and cocks his head to the side in a manner than Thorin always finds endearing, earning himself a smile and a new series of kisses, one big hand coming up to pet his cheek.

Thorin's hands are always on the edge of being too rough, always squeezing that little bit too hard as though he forgets that Bilbo is quite a bit smaller than him.  Bilbo has never minded - the dwarf has never been overly rough and he always keeps the bulk of his great strength held back,  even when they had briefly play fought and sieged each other with tickles on a particularly ale sodden night in Lake town,  but the little that always slips through is almost like a testament to how Thorin's opinion of the hobbit has changed.  He no longer thinks him too delicate,  but able to handle a little of the wildness of the world. 

Tonight though his hands are too gentle, resting there on Bilbo's cheek and his shoulder like he isn’t entirely sure where else he can put them.  The touch isn’t as quite as attractive as when it was almost too rough like the petting the hobbit is used to, and this is just the least of Bilbo’s worries, even as Thorin traps his mouth in a bruising kiss again.

They really rather need some slick, Bilbo realises even as Thorin nips his lower lip a shade too hard, if the night was going to progress much further. Thorin’s cock is a heavy bulge under his hardwearing trousers, pressing to the hobbit’s thigh as they entangle themselves further, and there is no earthly way that is fitting in without some oil.

“Penny for your thoughts?” growls Thorin, sounding slightly peeved. Bilbo blinks at him stupidly for a moment, before Thorin sighs, burrows his hand under the sheets and pours a great dwarvish pawful of gold coins over the hobbit’s head. Bilbo squeaks and tries to defend himself with the wadded up cloak that is his pillow, before deciding on a good offense instead. Thorin is particularly hard to tickle, but there is a spot high on his right flank that always produced a twitch when poked, and Bilbo attacks mercilessly. More coins go flying as Thorin responds by making it known he knows _all_ of Bilbo’s tickly points, and somehow, through the rolling about and the escape attempts and the general clumsy joy, they end up on the other side of the bed, at right angles to their original position and with Bilbo perched on top of Thorin’s lap.

“Oh!” His arse is neatly pressed against the hardness of Thorin’s cock, and Bilbo became acutely aware _again_ of the need for some oil. “Um…”

“What _is_ it, Bilbo?” growls Thorin, his hands clasping the hobbit’s waist, eyes focused slightly further downwards. He looks determined but unsure, and that isn’t an expression Bilbo is used to from his king.

“Won’t we need some…” He fumbles for the word and ends up just squeaking out, “Slick!” wishing that he isn’t so easily embarrassed. Hobbits are meant to be blasé about this sort of thing.

Thorin makes a consternated expression. “I don’t…” He starts and wrinkles his nose up in an all too puzzled fashion. “Why would we need..?”

Bilbo blinks, and decides he should probably set up some ground rules _right now_. He pushes Thorin back and hauls himself up as well, so they’re sitting beside each other again. Thorin looks irked once more, but goes along with his hobbit anyway.

“If that,” Bilbo says, pointing in the general direction of Thorin’s lap without looking – although he does blush extensively again at even the thought of it -, “Is going anywhere near me, then we need something to slick us both up.” He clutches at his own arms in horror and adds, “You’d break me in two!”

“You think I’d hurt you?” growls Thorin, face becoming stormy.

“It’s just something we need for it to be.. good.” Bilbo can’t believe Thorin would not know this – even he knows it, and he has never done _anything_ with _anyone_. “Surely, you must have… before?”

This is the wrong thing to say. Thorin’s expression darkens so severely that Bilbo nearly recoils in horror.

“What are you saying, hobbit?” he growls, and it’s no longer his low lusty purr, but a nasty warning hiss of a tone. “Are you doubting me, now of all times?”

“What? No! I just thought… If you’ve done this before, then surely you must have used some oil to ease the way!” Nothing Bilbo says makes it any better.

“And now you accuse me of whoring!” Thorin is on his feet, fists clenched and tendons straining at his neck; Bilbo cannot understand why until the king speaks again. “Dwarves do not share their bodies lightly, hobbit! Only ever with their one do they lie together.”

“I didn’t know!” bleats Bilbo, lunging and catching Thorin’s sleeve in desperation to calm him. “I didn’t know that, please! Hobbit traditions are different;  if you had been like us, then…”

“You didn’t know?” says Thorin, his rage subsiding to a simmer quickly. He had been tense beforehand, Bilbo realises, and that strain has driven him to faster anger than usual. So Thorin Oakenshield has no experience of sharing a bed with another, despite his regal status and his handsome looks. “What do hobbits do then? Surely then do not share themselves freely?”

Bilbo thinks of the warm summer nights when a walk in the countryside would be an affair filled with giggling hedgerows and soft sounds from the woods, and the numbers of lads and lasses that would slip off together at parties and come back with straw in their hair. And after a while, they would settle down with someone and grow old and happy together, and if you had shared your bed before, then it was of no concern to anyone because that was the past.

“Certainly the younger folk do,” he says, and Thorin’s face crumples into a horrified expression. “Most of us settle down in our older age, but when you’re young and free and happy, you have all the time in the world for enjoying yourself.”

“Enjoying yourself? Just with _whoever_?” The dwarf sounds disgusted, but he sits back down when Bilbo tugs on his sleeve again. “But what able your _one_? Surely you have to be in love?”

“You don’t have to be in love!” says Bilbo, “It’s for pleasure! As long as everyone enjoys it, where’s the problem?”

Thorin still looks rather horrified.

“It’s not just a one person thing,” he adds, “But I think you enjoy more if you love the person you’re with. That’s what my dad always told me.” Thorin now looks mildly mollified, and his hands settle on Bilbo’s waist again, though they are loose, like he’s still not sure. “I never did… anything really… though..”

“But if hobbits are more…” Thorin makes a complicated hand gesture, which makes Bilbo blush crimson and feel rather slighted for the honour of his kin. “ _Really_?”

Now Bilbo feels rather slighted for his own honour and says, “And why would you think otherwise?”

One of Thorin’s big hands comes to his jaw, a thumb stroking his cheek. It’s remarkably tender, and Bilbo feels soothed almost immediately. “But you’re Bilbo Baggins,” says Thorin, voice pitched low and tender, “And you’re a gentlehobbit of comfortable means, with a charming tongue anyone would envy and a lovely look about you. If anyone had the chance, why would they not?”

“It is lucky,” says Bilbo, throatily and after a long while to get his voice back, “That dwarves love only one, for I would have no chance fighting off all the others who would be queuing to have you otherwise.”

“Ha.” Thorin leans in and kisses Bilbo gently and sweetly, leaving him shivering.

Bilbo looks down at Thorin’s lap, where the bulge is still very evident despite his outburst, and then glances at his own, more modest tent in his trousers. Thorin’s hands drift from Bilbo’s waist to settle on his thighs, making him squirm and wriggle towards the touch, blushing brightly at just how wanton he was being.

“Ah well,” says Thorin, not sounding sorry in the slightest, “We do both have hands after all.”

Bilbo’s hips jerk forward again, grinding his arousal firmly against what friction he could get from his trousers and he smiles, “And we both have mouths, of course.”

“Mouths?” Thorin looks intrigued, and it is an extremely handsome expression on him. Bilbo is torn between leaning forward to kiss him, or just continuing to grind down where he was. Choices, choices! “Now there’s a hobbit custom I think I might enjoy learning.” He grasps Bilbo’s chin and tugs him down for a kiss, and, _oh_ , this is a kiss on return to form. “Come, master hobbit, we shall learn together.”

Thorin’s hands gingerly lower from Bilbo's chin to stroke down the thin undershirt he wore.  Bilbo leans into the touch, keen for more but not sure if utter wantonness is what Thorin was hoping for.  Did dwarves find that attractive?  Certainly in hobbits it is considered endearing in the younger folk,  but something that should really be grown out of by Bilbo's age.  Oh, but he _wants_!  He wants Thorin broad and strong against him and on top of him,  those paw like hands squeezing his thighs and his mouth lapping his cock.  He wants to get his hands about Thorin's prick,  to feel the weight and the hardness of it and to taste him,  to hear his groans as he’s brought to the utmost pleasure by the hobbit’s mouth.  He wants to be slick and sweaty and in the grip of the dwarf’s embrace as they calm together. He whines pitifully at his own imagination and presses deeper into the kiss.

It is messy and nowhere near as coordinated as they have by now grown to be,  but Bilbo is desperate and hungry for touch and Thorin,  though briefly shocked into laxness,  responds with enthusiasm.  Teeth click and nip at lips, but it is all ignored and Thorin leans his bulk against Bilbo's chest and bears him down onto the bed once more.  The coins chink under them as they rearrange themselves but it is much more comfortable and easier to settle in together than the first attempt. 

Bilbo’s back is cooled by the bank of coins and gems under the linens,  but Thorin is as hot as a furnace atop him. He spreads his legs to accommodate the dwarf,  a small blip of pain in his inner thighs as he parts them more than he is used to doing,  and Thorin eases down until their bellies are pressed together through the thin fabrics of the undershirts they still wore.  He remains propped up on his elbows,  which Bilbo's ribs are grateful for,  and his thick mane of hair cascades over both their faces. Strands momentarily brush Bilbo's nose and infiltrate the kiss, and the pair of them break apart with a laugh,  Thorin tossing his hair back over his shoulders. 

“Next time," he growls in a husky voice that makes the hairs on the back of Bilbo's neck stand on end and heat coilsl tightly in his stomach. " We shall bring a hair tie as well as some oil."

"Come back down here for now," says Bilbo,  opening his arms and hoping that Thorin won’t notice the trembling which still afflicts his hands.  "I shall make do with whatever you give me."

He entangles his fingers in the dwarf’s long hair as they kiss again, only spurring Thorin on and going someway to pleasing Bilbo as well, the strands thick but soft and the growls when fingers scratched down to the scalp soft and pleased.  They are  tight to each other now, a near suffocating embrace as Thorin’s hips grind down and Bilbo tosses his head back and gasps in shock. It is heady friction against the part of him that wishes for it most and when Thorin looms down, concerned guilt written large on his face, Bilbo gasps and says,  "Don't stop?"

He really rather intends to be commanding about it,  so the broken pleading of his voice is not his goal,  but Thorin answers with gusto.  The thick bulge of his trousers, where his own cock must be echoing the same uncomfortably aching throb of Bilbo's, grinds against the spread of Bilbo’s open thighs and down against the hobbit's erection.  Both of them give little moans, hitching even tighter together, and shuddering in unison. Bilbo buries his face in the crook of Thorin’s neck, breathing in the heady scent of metal and rich earth and nibbling at the taut line of a tendon in desperation to stop himself crying out louder with the pleasure.

This! This is what he had wanted from the start, though he had been too shy to share. Thorin atop of him, their bodies moving together, shifting and rutting hard against one another until the delicious friction was tightening the hot coil in his belly that signalled the start of something very good, and there is just _one_ thing wrong.

“Stop!” Bilbo gasps, and Thorin freezes obediently, even if his forehead does thunk against the bed sheets and the golden mattress with a frustrated gasp.

“Whatever is the matter now?” he groans, nuzzling down to Bilbo’s ear. “Are you planning to run out and beg some oil off our Company? Otherwise I can think of no other thing you could be hoping to do.”

"I'm not finishing in my small clothes like I was a tween again,  set off by even the hint of a heaving bosom!" says Bilbo,  licking his kiss swollen lips and feeling a shiver of pleasure as Thorin's stormy eyes follow the movement as though enraptured. "Or a set of broad shoulders,"  he corrects, because hay making time had been his favourite part of the year for skipping down to the fields and watching the men at work. “This is our first…” he finishes, softly and hopefully and Thorin’s understanding noise soothes him immediately.

"Ah. I see. After all, we have hands," rumbles Thorin again and,   _Valar_ , his voice goes straight down Bilbo's spine and drives him to near squirm on the bed with impatience.  "And you certainly have a mouth, as you say."

"And next time, " says Bilbo breathlessly, "We shall have oil and-"  His voice dies away to nothing as Thorin's hand sweeps down his flank and  curls around to gently cup his arse,  his expression suddenly gentle and hopeful, eyes still smoky with lust.  Bilbo nods dumbly and cups Thorin’s face in his hands to kiss him gently and regain his tongue. 

With the initial desperation tempered and twisted into a want for touch by their earlier rut,  they move slowly together this time, palms flat to bodies and fingers coaxing buckles and buttons undone.  Thorin unplucks the few buttons Bilbo had done up on his undershirt,  and his hands shake so hard that he struggles to undo the laces that hold together the hobbit's trousers.  Bilbo can’t complain -  the buckle on the king’s belt is dwarvish and therefore bloody difficult to undo if you don’t know the trick of it.  Eventually they both must give up and move apart to undress.  Bilbo draws his own top off and pauses with his hands on the waist of his trousers as Thorin kicks his own off and drags his shirt up over his head with a flex of heavily packed stomach muscles that make Bilbo’s cock throb a little bit more.  Underneath those hardwearing leathers and worn velvets, Thorin’s skin is bronze in the glittering reflection of the oil lamps on the gold, his chest powerful and broad and his thighs are strong and well corded with thick muscle and dusted with black hair; there remains a loincloth,  though it hides nothing of the size of his arousal. 

"Your turn," he purrs -  and Bilbo is grateful that Thorin’s voice remains confident even if his hands shake and his heart pounds, for the sound brings Bilbo courage without fail -  and his gaze rakes hungrily across the hobbit's chest.

Bilbo tugs his trousers down an inch and then comes over all Tookish and tucks his thumbs i to his smallclothes to whip them down as well,  leaving himself naked and with a heavy pink blush flushing his exposed skin. Thorin's gaze skitters from his face to his chest,  to his cock and the curve of his hip that must be all the dwarf can see of his arse and then back up to his face. 

"You are... " The dwarf smiles wickedly,  all teeth bared and glittering lust in his eye. "The things I am going to do with you,  master burglar,  are going to make your handsome little hobbit toes curl."  He pounces and Bilbo is tumbled to the linens again with a scraping bruising kiss,  and calloused hands roaming his chest.  A thumb brushes one of his nipples, and the touch sends a bolt of unsuspected pleasure through the hobbit's body and right to his bared cock; he curses and wriggles  against the touch and Thorin is on him mercilessly.  Fingers stroke and caress the nubs, and Thorin purrs, “Continue to tell me your mind, my hobbit, so I can please you.”

“You always please me,” whimpers Bilbo, arching his back a little as the fingers trail down away from his nipples, only to be replaced by lips and an exploring tongue. Thorin’s beard scratches and scrapes the tender flesh around and Bilbo is left able to only writhe and gasp. He doesn’t much like the touch of teeth to his nipple at first, tries to wriggle away from that touch, but Thorin soothes him with wide sweeps from his tongue and his fingers skidding down Bilbo’s flanks with an unerring aim for all his ticklish spots that make him giggle and writhe. The dwarf’s mouth kisses to the other nipple – if anything this one is more sensitive, and the teeth come back into play and now _that_ is _good_ – and his big hand cups the swell of Bilbo’s arse, squeezing and petting him. And that’s all well and good but Bilbo’s cock is really not that far away and he would much rather have Thorin’s hand massaging that instead; he cocks his hips up and grinds his arousal pointedly against the heavy pelt of Thorin’s stomach, managing to get a happy rhythm going against the granite carved blocks of his muscles before the dwarf catches on and his friction disappears.

“Come here then,” growls Thorin, hot breath blowing over the hobbit’s wetted skin. The dwarf doesn’t stay at that level long, but slips down Bilbo’s body, pressing kisses to the ridges where  his ribcage pants high under his skin and to where the soft life he had led in the Shire had left him with softness about his belly.

Thorin’s hand is big and warm and strong, and it is all Bilbo can do to hold his hips steady and stop himself from fucking up into the friction. As it is, he mewls at the first stroke, which spreads heat straight up his spine and makes his feet skitter on the sheets. His belly heaves and shivers, his thighs tremble, and Thorin leans his heavier weight onto him, hand stroking him carefully.

"Like this?" Thorin’s thumb swirls over the head,  hand stroking firmly,  and Bilbo's back arches with the pleasure of it all. "Tell me what you want, dear one,  so I can serve it to you."

Oh Bilbo still wants things, desperately needs them in fact!  But his tongue is too big in his mouth and his throat clenches over the thought of expressing the filthy things swimming in his befuddled mind.  Thorin urges him again, hand slowing its pace, and out of frustration Bilbo reaches down himself to _show_ him instead.

At the same time he slips his fingers into his mouth, Bilbo’s other hand trails down his belly, brushing his fingers over his nipples carefully, feeling the electric fizz from left by Thorin’s stubble and lips. His hands run down over his own belly, soft and teasing; Thorin leans up to press an open mouthed kiss to his navel as the fingers slide past. Bilbo sighs and thinks about encouraging those chapped lips and wet tongue downwards to his cock but he doesn’t know how well that would go down, so he trails his hand further down, past the firm grip Thorin still has on his cock and takes up his own balls, palming himself and fondling gently. Thorin makes a growling noise of understanding and his sword-roughened palm proves to be a far nicer touch that Bilbo’s own soft hand. He is gentle at first, but swiftly grows more confident with the hitching groans that escapes the hobbit’s mouth with each touch on his body.

Bilbo drags his leg out to the side, giving himself just that little room he needs and slips his fingers from his mouth, slick and wet with his saliva and reaches down. He circles the twitching muscle between his legs a few times and then his body clenches and flutters as he eases the tip of his first finger inside himself. Thorin gives a hungry growl, and Bilbo squeezes his eyes closed to focus on the feeling, pushing deeper inside. It has been long since he had last done this, but he still remembers the first day that he’d found out a finger in the right place was an excellent thing indeed.

Soon one finger is not quite enough and he eases a second in, and soon after that he finds himself  trying to twist his wrist to find that spot inside him where the pleasure was the greatest, but he couldn’t quite reach far enough. Frustrated, he withdrew his fingers and Thorin hums, a low, wet noise, and _oh_! Bilbo’s eyes slam open  at the first wet noise to see Thorin sucking on his own fingers, and then there is the slick tip pressing to his opening. Thorin’s fingers are much larger than the hobbit’s and Bilbo almost squeaks when the first breaches him, but the intrusion goes no further.

“Talk to me,” growls Thorin, sounding almost as desperate as Bilbo feels.

“Deeper,” gasps Bilbo, and the finger pushes steadily in, thoroughly wetted and moving into him smoothly. One knuckle slips in and then there’s a brief moment of stillness as Thorin wriggles his fingertip and it brushes the spot inside that Bilbo had been trying so hard to reach, and _oh_! It’s a brief, soft touch, not nearly enough, but then Thorin’s eyes come over all wicked as Bilbo moans.

“More?” he growls, lowering his head to nip at Bilbo’s hipbone. Bilbo squeaks and stutters and nods frantically, stuffing a hand over his mouth to hold back his cries when the finger deep inside him shifts out and a second tip eases in. “Bilbo – talk to me. Do you want more?”

“ _Valar_!” Bilbo’s pries his hand from between his teeth and nods his head desperately again, managing to squeak out the words, “ _Yes_! More!”

Two thick fingers squeeze into him, making him pant and squirm and whine as he’s filled, and Thorin pauses for a moment.

“What were you trying to do?” he rumbles curiously, thrusting his fingers in and out gently. Bilbo squirms because the friction is delicious, but he wants more and forces himself to talk.

“Crook your fingers,” he gasps, twitching when callouses brush so close to that spot but not quite near enough. “Oh, a little further up-!” Thorin’s fingers encounter the place deep inside him that makes sparks flash behind his eyelids. “There!”

Thorin chuckles deeply, and then Bilbo is fairly assaulted with pleasure – hand stroking his cock, kisses being pressed to his twitching thighs and heaving belly, and those fingers thrusting in and out and curling to strike the spot every time. He’s nearly mad with it when Thorin stops abruptly.

“Oh!” Bilbo wriggles; the fingers deep inside him rub that spot once more and the hand on his cock strokes him up and down slowly and firmly. Pleasure crashes over him like a wave, bowing his back and arching his throat in desperation, Thorin’s  hand not stopping, even as he spills.

“You look,” Thorin purrs, his voice piercing the fog between Bilbo’s ears and the world, dimmed as it is in the wake of his orgasm.  “Beautiful. The things I wish to do to you…” It is a dark voice he spoke in, all deep and ravenous: Bilbo shudders in response, a few more droplets easing up and spattering Thorin’s knuckles.

“Please…” Bilbo isn’t sure whether he is asking for mercy or begging Thorin to continue for just a second longer, as the trembles still rack his frame. It is right on the edge of too much, but the hobbit is still riding high on the wave. He had never felt it so intensely before, even when he had teased for ages and brought himself to the peak with four of his own fingers deep inside him. Thorin’s fingers are bigger, thicker, and there is no equivalent to the sight of his smouldering blue eyes and his mouth curling into a hungry snarl as Bilbo holds out his hands desperately to beckon the dwarf king up.  

Thorin’s fingers slip from his backside and Bilbo whimpers as he body clenched down on nothing, a new shiver speeding through his frame. He encourages the dwarf to lie down beside him, still with one big paw holding on his cock. Gently, Bilbo eases the hand away, ignoring Thorin’s smirk as he ends up with his seed smeared over his belly and chest, and reaches down with trembling fingers to touch Thorin instead.

His first touch of a another’s cock earns him a low groan and Thorin rolls onto his back, urging Bilbo to follow and settle beside his hip. He needs both hands to fully reach around the girth of Thorin’s prick, because it is an impressive thing indeed. The heavy head is rosy and glistening already and the shaft thick with thick veins close to the surface. Bilbo traces one of these veins carefully with his thumb, stroking up and down  and smiling as Thorin wriggles and hisses something in  Khuzdul. He is able to ease the way of his strokes with a swipe of his fingers over the slit, where pre-slick was spilling out copiously, and his hands move smoothly over the velvety soft skin in a very satisfying fashion. Thorin drops his head back to the linens with a hitched sigh.

“Do you want my mouth?” he squeaks, feeling very bold as he says it. Thorin opens bleary eyes and smiles, wolfish and a little bit broken about the edges.

“If you want to.” He pets Bilbo’s curls, probably smearing them with all sorts of fluid but Bilbo doesn’t care right now. He isn’t entirely sure what he is doing, but Thorin is watching with such curious, lust-filled eyes he can barely back out now.

His tongue laps out, carefully touching the very tip. The slick tastes salty, almost bitter, but not unpleasant. Bilbo licks again and then Thorin groans brokenly, his head falling back again with a soft chink against the gold.

“Are you-?”

“Stop and I will have you banished,” growls Thorin, one of his big hands settling on top of Bilbo’s curls and tugging the strands lightly. His fingers are shaking and his voice even more broken that before, and Bilbo knows he won’t have much to do before his king spills.

“Abusing your power now,” laughs Bilbo, but he lowers his mouth again and shivers spread up his back when his mouth touches the king’s cock again. Salt spreads over his tongue as he swallows and his tongue laves the underside, sweeping back and forth, and Thorin moans and his fingers tightening in Bilbo’s hair. Bilbo takes a deep breath through his nose and pushes his lips down further, until the head bumps the back of his throat and he chokes quietly, drawing back to gasp and cough.

“Careful,” gasps Thorin, but Bilbo refuses to be put off, wipes his chin of his own spit and ducks down to lick a long path along the underside, where a vein throbs perilously close to the skin. His hand pumps the length of Thorin’s cock, his thumb rubbing the tip like Thorin had done for him, and he ducks his mouth a little further to press kisses to his balls and to lap the soft skin until Thorin tugs on his hair and pulls him up a little. “Your mouth on me again, hobbit. Please…”

Bilbo returns obediently and casts his eyes up at Thorin as he sucks. The dwarf king’s head is thrown back against the linens, hair spread wildly about his face, his chest heaving and his arms stretched out and tensed. Just to see the response, Bilbo begins to bob his mouth up and down in the same rhythm his hand had kept up and it is a good sight indeed.

Thorin stiffens, his thigh shaking beneath Bilbo’s chest and his stomach clenching and releasing. Bilbo keeps up his pace, ignoring the burning cramp in his jaw and the twisted clench of his ribs where he’s twisted down, and bobs his mouth even faster, spit running from the corners of his mouth and creating obscene slurping noises. His hand strokes the length of Thorin’s prick that he can’t fit in his mouth, the other petting up and down the lightly furred bulk of the dwarf’s thigh.

“I’m going to-“ Thorin’s hands flutter desperately against Bilbo’s shoulder and then settle into his curls again, callouses scraping his scalp and fingers tugging strands out as his pleasure strikes him and he spills into the hobbit’s mouth. Bilbo swallows as much as he can, letting his lips go slack so the rest leaks from his mouth and runs down his chin, but keeps Thorin’s cock against his tongue, lapping at him softly until the dwarf gives one final shudder and begs him up for  a hug.

It takes a moment to arrange all limbs comfortably, so nothing sensitive is liable to be kicked or nudged suddenly, but eventually they settle down, Bilbo’s head cushioned on the bulky muscle of Thorin’s shoulder, tucked into the furnace like heat of the dwarf’s side and breathing in the faint scent of sweat and salt.

  
“We will learn,” says Bilbo, licking his lips again and smiling at the faint bitter taste of salt in his mouth. His body feels stretched and rubbery, and all he wants to do now is lay in Thorin’s arms and maybe have a nice nap.

“I think we got off to a rather good start,” rumbles Thorin.

“Aside from the argument.”

Thorin inclines his head enough to kiss Bilbo’s temple. “Aye, aside from the argument. Next time – no arguments and bring some oil. Simple enough.”

“And a hair tie,” yawns Bilbo, snuggling down into the embrace before a thought strikes him. “And a proper bed! Gold is nice and  all,” he adds, when Thorin snorts derisively. “But it’s rather hard and lumpy to lie on.”

“A plush mattress and silk sheets is no doubt what you’re after?” Thorin sounds amused. “What a picky creature – a bed of gold and jewels, and you want a mattress.”

“They had nice beds in Laketown,” says Bilbo, not bothering to deny his pickiness. He was too comfortable to even bother with bickering. “And the Shire. We had the nicest mattresses in the Shire. Have one brought across, I can wait for it.”

“Well, yes,” growls Thorin, and the lust is back in his voice, dark and rich, and Bilbo has to cant his head up to see the expression on the dwarf’s face. Oh, it is a nice expression indeed. “I would advise you to get used to the gold in the meantime, my hobbit.” Bilbo cranes his neck up for a kiss. “Because we are going to be spending a great deal of time on top of it regardless.”

Bilbo thinks he can live with that.

 


End file.
